


The Trouble with Cannibals

by Devereauxs_Disease



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Crack, Fluff, Hannibal is haunted by Franklyn, M/M, Maybe A Tribble, Murder Husbands, Tribbles, Will Gets a Dog
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-03
Updated: 2016-02-03
Packaged: 2018-05-17 21:13:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 577
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5885434
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Devereauxs_Disease/pseuds/Devereauxs_Disease
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hannibal gives Will a dog. Hannibal immediately regrets that decision.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Trouble with Cannibals

**Author's Note:**

> _This is what happens when you watch Star Trek and Hannibal in the same night. But hey, tribbles!_

“Ok. Seriously, what is this?” Will examined the ball of sable fur in Hannibal’s hand. A satin ribbon was the only indication of where its head was.

“It’s a dog, Will.”

“No. This is a sentient hairball.” Will poked at what he could only assume was the nose. He was rewarded with a pink tongue lapping at his finger. Well, at least it was friendly, whatever it was. “You bought me a tribble.”

“I believe it is a Pomeranian. If you’d prefer a tribble, I can take her back.”

“I know it’s a…wait. Do you even know what a tribble is?” Hannibal’s eye tensed at the corner. His grip on the dog tightened enough to make it yip in distress.

“A parasitic space creature popularized in the original Star Trek television series episode The Trouble with Tribbles,” Hannibal muttered.

Life with Hannibal had prepared Will for many things: Coming home to find his husband working a homemade spice rub into a disembodied leg? Normal. Waking to the bright tones of the harpsichord after a night of filthy sex? Par for the course. Finding Hannibal on his hands and knees scrubbing blood out of the grout in their kitchen tiles? Adorably predictable - and kinda hot. But this? This was too much.

Will was suddenly very glad Hannibal was still holding the furball, he was feeling dizzy.

“Hannibal,” Will’s voice was too high. He cleared his throat and tried again. “Hannibal, my love, are you a Trekkie?”

“Don’t be absurd.”

“Oh my god, you are,” Will was positively gleeful at this revelation. Visions of Hannibal adjusting a combadge on the lapel of a purple plaid suit danced behind his eyes. “Should I buy us matching Starfleet uniforms, or do you already have one hidden next to your murder suit?”

“Will, stop this. I’m not a Trekkie.” Hannibal couldn’t keep his lip from curling in distaste as he uttered the last word. Will leaned in and kissed the minute snarl.

“So, what? Did Star Trek trivia come up a lot at Hopkins?”

“One of my patients was a fan of the series and enjoyed offering me what he called ‘recaps’ of the best episodes.”

“Franklyn?”

Hannibal looked pained.

“There’s a reason I snapped his neck.”

Will lifted the puppy from Hannibal’s hands, nuzzling into the soft fur around her ears. He absently carded a hand through Hannibal’s hair. 

“Well, that nightmare is over now,” Smiling at the mess he’s made of Hannibal’s hair, Will moves his hand to soothingly rub at his husband’s shoulder. “If you ever need to talk about what the bad man said to you, I’m here.”

“Are you having fun?”

“I really am,” Will grins wide. “Also, I’m thanking my lucky stars I never mentioned my Battlestar Galactica blog to you.”

“I am beginning to regret the turn this evening has taken.” Hannibal stepped back from Will and eyed the dog. “It seems to me it all started with an ill-conceived present on my part.”

Will snatched the dog backwards, sheltering the fluffy ball from Hannibal’s stare.

“Don’t you blame this on Tribby!”

“Tribby?”

“Well, she does look like a tribble.”

Hannibal sighed. “No good deed goes unpunished.”

“My poor cannibal,” Hannibal glares, but doesn’t reject Will’s smooch. “I promise to name the next one Lord Fussy Britches III, ok?”

“The next one?”

“Oh Hannibal,” Will shoots his husband a sorrowful look as he heads for the door. “Didn’t Franklyn tell you? Tribbles always multiply.”


End file.
